


Empty

by PhanGirlObsessed



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 15:18:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14979923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhanGirlObsessed/pseuds/PhanGirlObsessed
Summary: Phil sends Dan to therapy after discovering his scars. This is his story, from the moment he and Phil first met, to a full loop at the beginning. TW: self-harm, depression, anorexia.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! I've been working on this pretty feverishly for the past week or so and having an absolute blast. New chapters will definitely be uploaded soon, so stick around!

“Dan, I want to ask you why you’re here today.” The therapist says across from me. I shift uncomfortably in the couch, squirming under his stare. Something about him unnerves me. I try to pinpoint it, and realize it’s his perfect stature that’s off-putting. He seems so confident and sure of his abilities, and already I can’t relate to that. All I want to do is shrink into nothingness and be alone again.    

Silence.  _ Don’t give in,  _ I think.  _ You’re fine. There’s nothing wrong with you.  _ We stare at each other a bit more before he tries breaking the ice again, this time in a more direct manner. “Are you depressed?” He asks simply. I stare at him again.  _ Yes, _ I think.   

“No,” I say.  _ What can he do to help you, anyway? Having a degree and experience doesn’t necessarily mean that he knows what he’s doing. You could just be letting yourself out there for nothing. Don’t trust him.             _

“Then why are you here?” He asks. I hesitate before responding. I could answer with another lie, but judging by the fact that he’s taking this conversation in circles no matter how I answer, he’s not going to give up on me that easily. I decide to go for a very bold move that makes my stomach lurch and the bile rise in my throat.  

I very slowly pull on my long sleeves, revealing the hundreds of scars scattered all around every surface.  _ Just…say it… _

“Because my friend found these.”                             

And it’s true. Well…kind of. What really happened was that Phil and I had been making out, and when he pulled off my shirt, he uncovered the truth. I had been so lost in him, in his presence, that I had forgotten about my scars and my worries completely. I’ll never forget the expressions written all over his face. Anger, because I hadn’t told him that this had been going on for so long. Sadness, because it hurt him to see me this way. Fear, because he didn’t know what to do with me, or if I was basically a ticking time-bomb that shouldn’t be left alone. We sat and cried for a good two hours that night, him holding me tighter than he’d ever had, allowing me to spill everything I’d been holding in. Unbeknownst to me, he immediately phoned the school, explaining what had happened. I got called from class today, and received a massive shock at being sent to this room. I wasn’t ready for it. Not after hiding for so long.                                                               

“Dan, what happened to you?” He asks concernedly.                                                                                                                                                                                                    

“It’s a bit of a long story.” I say nervously.                                                                                 

“Well, we have all the time in the world.” He responds. He uncaps his pen and glances down at his clipboard. “And I’m here to listen to every word.” I can see the desperation in his eyes, pleading me to save me from myself. I take a deep breath and tell him my story. 

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“Dan, I’m going out for the night.” My father says, shutting the door without waiting for my reply. That was always how it was with him. I never knew exactly where he was going or for what reasons, but I could guess. Every time he came home, he smelled like alcohol. His drinking escapades could last weeks on end, and I’d be left alone in the house for most of that time. If you could even call this a house. I liked to refer to it more as a dump. That’s what it looked like, anyway. It was a small, cramped, hole-in-the-wall apartment littered with junk. But it was still the place where I ate and slept, so I tried to look on the positives as much as possible. That wasn’t always easy.                     

My phone rang on the side of the dining room table I was sat on, previously scribbling on some staff paper. I had started doing my homework when I was hit with a tune out of nowhere. I had immediately grabbed a piece of blank sheet music and started writing it down, trying not to forget it. Song ideas had unfortunately been few and far in between for awhile.          

I look at the caller id. It’s my football coach, Mr. Evans. He and I have a great relationship, mainly because I’m the quarterback. But he never really calls me unless I’m late, even though we exchanged phone numbers ages ago. I frown and pick it up.  

“Hello?” I ask.                                               

“Dan, hi.” He says. I can already tell from the tone of his voice that he wants something from me.  _ Please, my schedule is already packed as it is with practices, don’t give me a random assignment-   _

“There’s a new student at the school, and the principal wants a football player to show him the ropes. Don’t tell the rest of the squad that I think this, but you’re probably the kindest and most understanding of all of them. Will you do me a solid?” I sigh and slouch in my chair, considering.                  

“Why does he want a football player specifically?”                                                 

“Because you guys tend to be more socially active and know what the scene is like here. I also have a sneaking suspicion he wants new players on the team for next year, and I don’t disagree. We’re graduating a lot of seniors, and it would be great if we had another member. If you could convince him to join-” I roll my eyes.  _ Of course.       _

“Yeah, fine, whatever. When is this?”                                                              

“Tomorrow at noon for a half and hour. Just like show him around and answer his questions or whatever.”                                                

“Okay. That sounds doable.”                                                                        

“Thank you so much. I know I can always count on you.” He hangs up the phone and I stare at it in my hand. No matter what, I would show him around. But I wasn’t so sure I wanted to convince him to join the team. It was the most toxic thing in my life at the moment, and I really didn’t want to bring that on anyone. Especially not a fellow junior who probably already had an idea of what his niche was. If only Coach Evans knew that I only took football for my dad…     

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

When I arrive at the school parking lot the next morning, the face I’m greeted with is not the one I’m expecting.  _ He’s beautiful,  _ I think, immediately shutting it down. But no matter how much I try to ignore the thought, I can’t. His jet-black hair, obviously straightened like mine, falls down the left side of his face, and his brilliant blue-green eyes glint in the sunlight. I’d always been jealous of blue eyes. There’s something about them that make you stick out. Something about this person makes me think that that’s the last thing he wants, though. He’s standing shyly by principal Gates and a woman who is probably his mother, watching their conversation without saying anything. I can’t tell if he’s just shy around new people or actually nervous. Whatever the case, I decide that approaching him in a quieter manner would probably be best. I walk purposefully up to them, and Dr. Gates smiles at me.  

“And there’s Dan. I’d been beginning to worry you wouldn’t show.” He says jokingly. I laugh good-naturedly. 

“Nah, sorry. You should know me by now. I’m just perpetually late to everything.” I say. He rolls his eyes. The kid and I meet each other’s gaze, and my heart beats a mile a minute.  _ Shut up, _ I will it. It doesn’t work. 

“Oh.” Dr. Gates says, noticing my glance. “This is Phil Lester. He just arrived from Rawtenstall up North.” I shake his hand.

“What brings you guys down South?” I ask.

“New job.” His mother says. 

“I’ll let you two walk around while Mrs. Lester and I discuss academics.” He says.  He pulls a lanyard with some keys out of his pocket and hands it to me. “I’m trusting you to give these back by the end of the day. I know how your team is with pranks. But, these will give you access to any classrooms you guys want to enter.” 

“Thanks.” I say, taking it from him and looping the lanyard around my belt. 

“Shall we?” Dr. Gates smiles at us one last time as he leads Mrs. Lester to his office. Phil and I stare at each other for a couple of minutes before he finds a way to break the ice. 

“So…you’re quarterback, huh?” He asks. 

“Yeah.” 

“That’s pretty cool. What made you join the team?” 

“My dad.” I say. He looks puzzled, as most people do when I tell them the truth. I think they expect me to say that football is my passion in life and that I’ve been doing it practically since I was out of the womb, but that was never the case for me.

“Oh. Is your dad a big football guy?”   

“Yeah, it’s pretty much all he talks about.”  _ When he isn’t drunkenly yelling at me,  _ I think bitterly. 

_ “ _ My family is the opposite. We’re all musicians. My mum does tech crew for theatre productions, and my dad is a music producer.” He says. I raise my eyebrows.

“Oh, really? I’ve been working on a few pieces myself.” I say, instantly regretting it. He looks intrigued.  

“That’s cool! You should show me sometime.” I put a hand on my neck and let an awkward pause ensue. “Yeah, maybe. Anyway, I should show you around.”

“Oh. Right.” He says, and we begin walking. “Where are we going first?”

“I was planning on showing you where each department wing is, unless there’s something in particular you wanted to see.” 

“What about the choir room?”           

“Choir?” I ask. 

He nods. “My one true passion. It’ll definitely be empty on a Saturday, but I was hoping just to see the room?” I look away from him, already jealous. I’d always wanted to join, but I knew that my father would never let me. Everything I ever do is for him. _ Why can I never do anything for myself?  _ “Are you okay?” He asks. I nod, snapping out of my reverie.  

“Yeah, sure. I can take you to the VAPA wing first then, I guess.”  

“So, are all of the subjects blocked together in a single area?” He asks.

“Pretty much. Math and sciences are in the same block, but math classes are on the first floor and science is on the second, so there’s still a divide. Other than that, pretty much everything is in one area. It makes it easier at the start of a new year, because even if you’re not exactly sure where your new English class is, you still know where the English building is.” I stop in my tracks. “This is the choir room.” I fumble around with Dr. Gates’s keys and open the door. 

In all my three years of high school, I’d never allowed myself to walk in here. I knew it would just make me jealous, looking at something that I knew I could never be. That was pretty much exactly how it felt when Phil and I walked in together. It was a nice room, obviously built for music-making. Posters littered the walls, saying things like “Happiness is singing in the choir,” and, “Singing is 90% listening and 10% singing.” There was a piano in the center of the room and risers lining the back, with a practice room off to each side. The teacher’s office lay in the center of the south wall.                                                                                  

“I like it.” Phil says. “It’s a lot bigger than the one back home. We didn’t have any practice rooms.” He gravitates towards the piano and sits down on the bench.                                                                                                                             

“Yeah, we’re actually kind of a rich school.” He glides his fingers on the piano keys without actually playing anything. “I bet most of those funds go towards the athletics program, though. That’s how it always is. Music teachers are always almost broke by the end of the year. No offense to your coaches, but you guys get off pretty easy.” He says.  

“We should probably go.” I say. He nods and stands up, heading out with me. I feel bad for making him leave so soon, but being in this room is making me jealous. There’s a reason I never allow myself to go in there. 

“So your dad, what does he do?” He asks. 

“He owns a grocery store.” I say.                                    

“You guys must have a good relationship if you’re taking football for him.” 

“No. That’s just it, I-” I start, catching myself. “Um...lets just say it’s complicated.”    

“Okay,” He says. “What about your mum?” 

_ Jesus.  _ “Uh, she’s dead.” I admit. His expression turns slightly horrified. 

“Oh, lord, I’m sorry-”                                

“No, it’s fine. You didn’t know.” I say. I shove my hands in my pockets and try to avoid eye contact.                                                                                        

“Really. I am sorry. I can’t imagine how it must be-” Tears threaten to well up in my eyes.  _ This is why I never tell anyone.  _ “So, this is the math wing.” I say.                                  

The conversation continues like that for the rest of the tour. Phil tried his best to start conversation, but whenever the topic even minimally gravitated towards me, I found ways to switch the subject. I could tell Phil was noticing, but he didn’t say anything about it, which I was thankful for. We’d only just met and I already told him my mum had died, I wasn’t about to spill anything else.               

The end of the tour was nearing, so I walked Phil over to sit outside of Dr. Gates’s office. 

“Well, thanks for that.” He says. “I’m not particularly nervous since I’m a junior, but it’s always good to get a lay of the land.”                                    

“Yeah,” I say. “Sure.”        

“Can I say something kind of dumb?” He asks.            

“Go for it.”                 

“You don’t act like a typical football player.” He says.             

“What do you mean?”                   

“Well I mean...I donno, maybe this  _ is _ just a stereotype, but you seem really kind and quiet. Even at my old school, a lot of the jocks were the typical jokesters, or the kids who always got themselves in trouble. I remember the principal saying something to you about pranks when he handed you his keys-” I snort a little. “What?” He says, smiling. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask, blushing a little. 

“Like what?”   
“You know. All...smiley.”

“Your snort was cute.” He says matter-of-factly. I stare at him blankly and he shifts uncomfortably. “Uh, so anyway, about the pranks-”

“Yeah,” I say. “Last year for the senior prank, a bunch of my mates on the team got together and drove cars into the quad.”               

“Wait, like onto campus? How’d they even do it?”                   

“They stole Dr. Gates’s keys the day before and unlocked the gate near the back parking lot. It leads directly into campus because it’s where the service trucks come to deliver our cafeteria food. Quite ingenious, actually. I remember that day. The cars were scattered all around every open space, so you’d have to stumble through the halls like it was a war zone. During passing periods, they’d get back in the cars and honk horns just to be annoying.” I finish. Phil laughs.                          

“That’s pretty amazing. They must have gotten in some serious trouble.” He looks at me thoughtfully, tilting his head to the side. “It’s kind of what I was talking about earlier, though. I can’t see you ever doing that. I know we’ve only just met, but my gut tells me you like to be more on the side lines of all that stuff.”         

“Yeah, I’d say that’s about accurate. I can be outgoing when I want to, don’t get me wrong. I just prefer not to be at the center of attention. It probably stems from the fact that football isn’t my main passion. I haven’t been doing it since I was three like the rest of them, so I don’t feel that compelled to fit in with the rest of the group.” He listens intently, nodding.              

“So, what do you like to do, then?”

“Well, I kind of like to write songs.” I say sheepishly. 

“That’s right, you told me. You should get those down on staff paper and let me show my dad. He could add effects and stuff to make them sound really cool.” 

“Oh yeah, he’s a producer, huh.” I say. “I just...I don’t think they’re very good yet. I-” At that moment, Mrs. Lester and Dr. Gates walk through, saving me from further explanation. 

“Thank you, Dr. Gates. It was nice to meet you.” She says. 

“The pleasure is all mine.” He responds.                  

“Ready to go, Phil?”                           

“Yeah, one sec.” They turn to talk to each other again, and Phil looks at me. 

“May I see your phone?”         

“Uh, sure.” I say. I hand it to him and he types on it for a bit before giving it back. I look and see that he’s added himself to my contacts.

“In case you ever change your mind about your songs.” He says. I smile. 

“Thank you.” He gets up and nods at me in recognition. “Okay mum, I’m ready.” 

“Lets go then, darling. Thank you, Dan, for showing Phil around.” Dr Gates beams at me, and the two of them leave.                      

“My keys?” He says.            

“Oh, right. sorry.” I hand them to him and walk back to my car, my mind buzzing with thoughts of Phil. I stare at my phone, looking at his contact.  _ In case you ever change your mind about your songs,  _ he had said. But is that really why he gave me his number?   


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  



	2. Chapter 2

_ Phil and I sit on my bed, laughing. He puts a hand on my neck before speaking.  _

_ “Dan, I just wanted to say that I-” _

_ “No time for talking,” I interrupt, kissing him full-force on the mouth. His eyes lift up in surprise, but he soon sinks into it, pulling me closer to him. I throw him down onto his back and lower my head- _

“Dan, wake up!” My dad yells.  _ Ugh… _ I think, obliging. My dad stands beside my bed, looking angry and smelling strongly of a mixture of alcohol and weed. 

“What did I do this time?” I ask half-heartedly. 

“It’s ten a.m. and you haven’t done your chores yet.” He says, folding his arms. 

“How are you just noticing this now?”

“Well...I, uh…” He starts.                 

“When did you get home last night?”                

“I just got home.” I throw a spare pillow at his face and roll onto my side. 

“Go away until you’re more responsible than me.”

“Don’t talk to me like that-”

“Go away!!” I yell. He scoffs and slams the door shut behind him.  _ Thank you, God.  _ I think.  _ Now I can get back to that amazing dream…. _

_ ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ _

The next morning when I walk into my first period, I’m the first person in the classroom.  _ That’s a first,  _ I think. Truthfully, the reason why I was on time was because I had been up all night thinking about Phil. Ever since I had met him on Saturday, he’d shown up in my dreams on more than one occasion. I had stared up at the ceiling all night, trying to make him go away, to no avail. On the bright side, I was up before my alarm clock. 

I sit in my usual seat in the back and pull out the piece of staff paper I’d been working on, trying to come up with song lyrics to pass the time. What could I write about? Nothing interesting was going on in my life. 

My teacher walks into the classroom, looking startled to see me. “Dan! Good morning. You’re here early.” She says. I look up. 

“Good to know my reputation still precedes me.” I say. She rolls her eyes subtly. 

“Being historically late isn’t a reputation you should strive for, Daniel.” She points out. I shrug. “What brings you here early, then?”

“Oh, no reason.” I lie. She sits down at her desk.

“What’s that you’re working on? Is it sheet music?”

“Blank sheet music.” I say.  

“I didn’t know you were into music. I thought you were a football kid.”

“I am.” I say. She raises an eyebrow.  

“Oh. Well, I think that’s great. It makes you well-rounded.” She says. 

“Riiiiight.” I shove the paper into my backpack and pull out my phone instead. She looks like she’s about to say something else when the rest of the class files in. She shrugs and looks at her laptop, ignoring me.  _ Finally.  _

Three minutes later, the bell rings and she starts speaking. “Good morning students, I hope you had a fine weekend. Now, I told you I’d announce your final project for our class, so here we go.” If you listened closely, you could almost hear the unanimous groan that swept the classroom at that instant. 

“The project is to teach yourself something.” We all stare at her blankly.  _ Uh…what?  _ “The English department has decided to force you guys to learn a new skill. Any new skill, something that you’ve been meaning to learn for a long time. It can be anything you wish, but it has to be something you can provide time logs for, and you need a mentor to guide you through it and sign off that you actually did the work.” She says. The groan gets louder. She rolls her eyes. “I see you’re all feeling a bit apathetic, and it is a Monday, so I’ll give you that. But seriously, people. You’re juniors. Colleges love to see well-rounded people, and being able to put another skill on your résumé is only going to help you. You all complain about how you’ll never use anything we teach you, anyways-don’t try to deny it-so we figured, why not give you guys the chance to learn something you care about, but maybe were too lazy to push yourself to do?” She hands out some papers with some topic ideas. “You have a week to figure out your topic and your mentor. This project will be the bulk of your third quarter grade, and you’ll work on it for the next few months before presenting. Any questions?” She asks. We all mumble our nos, and she heads back to her desk. “Good. Well, I have to take attendance, but after that, we can get started.” Everyone whispers to each other about the new project. I catch a few glimpses of the conversations.                       

“Are they crazy? How could they assign us something like this, that we have to figure out in two to three months? I might be able to learn a new skill given a semester, but in a single quarter-”                                                 

“How am I supposed to balance this with sports? I’ve got volleyball, soccer, and track tryouts all going on at the same time. What the fuck-”                               

“Language.” The teacher scolds. The kid rolls his eyes. I stare at the handout she gave us, contemplating. What topic  was I going to choose? I didn’t really want to learn any skills. What the heck was I going to do? I drop my pencil on the floor at that moment.  _ Great job, Dan.  _ I think. I bend over to pick it up and spot the staff paper sticking out of my backpack. I stare at it for a minute, and a lightbulb goes off.  I guess I could…write a song… except I already kind of knew how to do that, and I didn’t have a mentor.  Or did I?  I sit up in my chair and hastily pull my phone out of my pocket, hiding it under the desk. I search my contacts and find Phil’s name, smiling a little.  _ Phil… _ I snap out of it and put my phone down. Phil’s dad was a producer, and he said that I should call him if I ever wanted help. Producing a song is a lot different than writing them, and if I got his dad to be my mentor…it would work out perfectly. Only problem was, that meant I had to call Phil. We’d just met two days ago, and had only had a half hour conversation .  How on earth was I going to convince him to get his dad to do me this favor?  _This is a nice hole you’ve dug yourself into, Dan._ I think. My day just got a lot more interesting.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

I text PJ to meet me in the quad during break. Once I spot him, I walk towards him feverishly.   
“Hi, Dan,” He says. He notices my expression. “What’s up? You okay?” 

“Uh, we have a situation.” I say. 

“What do you mean, a situation?” He asks.                

“Remember that guy I told you about that I walked around campus this Saturday?”

“The one who gave you his number, and you totally have the hots for?” He teases.

“Shut up!” I say, swatting at his arm.                                                                              

“Ow, okay, jesus.” He says.                   

“Well, here’s the thing. Did you guys get that project announcement in English this morning?”                  

“Yeah, I think all the junior English classes have to do it.” He says. “I don’t know what the hell I’m going to choose for my topic.”                                                  

“I didn’t either, and then I got to thinking. What’s one skill I actually wouldn’t mind improving on? And then I thought, well, my songwriting.” PJ’s eyes light up. He’s always been the one that pushes me in that field, even when I have doubts. 

“That’s great!” He says.        

“Only problem, though: I didn’t have a mentor for it. I racked my brain for a tutor, and could only think of one person: Phil’s dad is a producer. That was the pretense he gave for giving me his phone number, anyway. He said I should show my songs to him sometime-”           

“Which is definitely not the truth.” PJ says. “He just wanted an excuse to get you to call him. And he wanted you to make the first move, so he could tell if you liked him.” I glare at him.                          

“Oh, so suddenly you’re an expert on all men now?”        

“I happen to be one.” He points out.                                       

“Barely.” I scoff. He rolls his eyes.                    

“So, you’re thinking of calling Phil and taking him up on the offer. I’m failing to see why this is a situation. You said he was nice, right?”        

“He was, but that’s not the point. I only had one half-hour conversation with him. Wouldn’t it be awkward if I asked him for a favor?” PJ stares at me. 

“No. If he put the offer on the table, I don’t see why it would be weird for you to ask. Besides. You deserve a good guy.”                                          

“Um, what was that last part?” I say.                                  

“You deserve a good guy, Dan. You deserve to be happy. I know you don’t think you do because your dad brainwashes you, but you do. Okay? So go out and ask him for the favor, damn it.” The bell rings at that moment, and he sighs. “Look...I don’t think you’re nervous about the project. I think you’re nervous about talking to Phil again. Just do it. You’ll never know what could happen if you let opportunities like this slip away all the time.” He finishes. He struts off to class and I stare after him, completely dumbfounded.                                          

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

I walk to my next period in a daze, barely noticing where I was going, relying only on muscle memory to find my way. I’m about to walk into the classroom when someone blocks my entrance and I bump into them.                                  

“Sorry.” I mumble. They turn around and look at me. It’s… “Phil!” I squeak. My cheeks go red. He smiles.                                                

“After you, Dan.” He opens the door for me. I hesitate before walking in. 

“Does this mean you’re...that you got put in…” I stammer.                                  

“Yup.” He says. “This class is on my new schedule.” I stare at him. “Uh...are you going to walk in, or-”

“Right.” I say, heading inside. I hear the door shut behind me and sit down. Phil follows, choosing a seat next to me.  _ Shit. Well, at least now I don’t have to work up the nerve to call him.                           _

“Did you have a good weekend?” He asks.                  

“Yup.” I say through near-gritted teeth.  _ Except I dreamed about undressing you several times and I was kind of hoping that Saturday was just a dream and you didn’t exist, but now that you’re staring at me and it’s all a reality again, I can’t help but wonder if I actually like you, and if I do, that situation is totally fucked because my dad would never allow-                 _

The bell rings and I sink into my chair. “All right class, after I take attendance we can get started.” The teacher says. I look at Phil.        

“So, you know how you told me you’re dad’s a producer?” I say. He nods, his grin widening.             

“Uh huh…” He says. 

“Well...did you get that English project this morning?”

“Yup.” He says patiently. 

“I was kinda sorta wondering if you would ask your dad to be my mentor so that I can choose songwriting as my topic.” I blurt out. Phil’s grin somehow, impossibly gets wider. 

“Yes, I will ask him. He’s really talented. He could do great things for you, if he accepts.” He says. I sigh a massive sigh of relief. 

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

An hour after I get home, my phone rings. It’s Phil. I excitedly pick it up. “Hey.” I say. 

“Hi, Dan. Guess what? My dad said yes.” I fist pump in the air a couple of times.  _ Yes, yes, yes, now I don’t have to scramble for a topic, hell yes- _ “Dan? You still there?”

“Yeah, sorry.” I say. “Thank you thank you so much. Is there anything I can do to repay you?”

“No, it’s fine.” He says. “But, you know, we just got a huge load of homework for our class.”

“Yeah, I know. She always assigns way too much.”

“Does she?” Phil replies. “Well...I was wondering if you would stay after your first session and help me with homework later. You know what the teacher wants, you’ve been in her class for two quarters. You could help me get an A.” I blink in surprise. 

“Uh...sure. Why not? Maybe doing homework with someone will actually get me to do it. I uh, procrastinate a lot.” I admit. He snorts. 

“Of course you do.”

“By the way,” I say, “Your snort was cute.” Dead silence rings in the conversation. Even though I can’t see him, I can tell he’s smiling. 

“What-”

“Bye, thank you. Tel l your dad to get in touch with me. I’ll text you my email. Byeeee.” I hang up, not waiting for him to ask any questions. I smile up at the ceiling.  _ I can’t believe I actually said that, _ I think giddily.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Phil’s POV

_ I can’t believe he said that. I can’t believe he just said that!  _ My mind screams. I’m lying on my bed, clutching my phone to my heart and staring at the ceiling.  _ He seemed so disinterested, and he didn’t call all weekend...but if he threw my own flirt back at me, he must be interested...right?  _ I shake my head and roll onto my side.  _ Phil...you’re way over in your head for your own good. Don’t fuck it up and move too fast like you always do, all right? Even if he’s not interested, he’s probably questioning. Don’t scare him off.  _ But still, I couldn’t shut down the squealing in my brain no matter what I did. 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Phil’s dad and I schedule an appointment for Friday after school, and because the week came and went quite quickly, I was nervously anticipating it the entire time. Phil and I sneaked conversation throughout class, but since we weren’t in any other classes together and didn’t hang out at lunch, we didn’t make much progress on our relationship (friend-wise or otherwise). When the bell rang for class that Friday, Phil stopped me before I headed out. 

“Hey, Dan. I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind giving me a ride since you’re going to my house anyway? I could direct you to the fastest route.” He asks politely. 

“Sure.” I say. “Where should we meet?” 

“My last class is choir, and it’s by the student parking lot anyway. How ‘bout it?” 

“Okay.” I say, swallowing the lump in my throat.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

After school ends, I make my way to the choir room and see students filing out.  _ It’s fine, Dan, just open the freaking door.  _ I push my way in and see Phil, along with the rest of the class, walking off the risers and grabbing their backpacks. 

“Hey Dan!” He says. I smile limply. 

“Hi.”

“Almost ready, just let me get my backpack.” 

“Hey, Dan.” One of the other classmates says. I recognize him from one of my other classes. 

“Oh, hi.” I say. “We’re in math together, right?”

“Yup.” He says. “So, tell me. What’s our star quarterback doing in the choir room?” The teacher glances up briefly from the papers on her podium.

“I’m just driving Phil home.” I say.

“I didn’t know you guys were friends.” He says. 

“Um, we kind of are. His dad is my mentor for the English project.”

“What’s your topic?”

“Songwriting. Phil’s dad is a producer.”

“You’re a songwriter?” The teacher asks. I look at her.  

“Um, kind of. I’ve only done a couple though. I don’t play any instruments either, I mainly work out melodies and lyrics. That’s why I need a producer.” I explain. 

“You should audition if you like singing. We could always use people with good listening skills.” She says. “And composers are always useful when we’re scrambling for arrangements with melody for the pop concert.”  

“I thought you have to audition at the end of the year.”

“You do for advanced, but not for intermediate. Intermediate auditions are open whenever.” I sigh. 

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t, cuz-“

“Dan, I’m ready!” Phil calls. 

“Gotta go.” I say quickly. I can feel them staring at me as we exit. 

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“What were you talking to Mrs. Leong about?” He asks. 

“She said I should try out for intermediate.” I say, unlocking my car. We get inside and I start pulling out of the parking lot. 

“You should. You’d probably get in because you already have a musical background.” He says. “It’s only hard to get in if you truly have no clue what you’re doing.”

“That’s not the issue.” I say, staring at the road. 

“Then what is?”

“My dad would never let me. He says it would take too much time away from football practices.”

“That’s not true. She purposely schedules every concert and tech rehearsal around football games so that you guys could theoretically do it. You just aren’t aware of it because football people never audition.”

“Try convincing my dad that. I promise you, you won’t win.” I say truthfully. 

“Oh, I don’t know. I can be pretty persuasive.” He says. “Take a right here.” I turn the car. 

“You think you are until you meet my dad.” I say.

“Is he really that bad?”

“Think about the most annoying three year old you’ve ever met, then multiply that by ten.” I answer. 

“Left.” He says. I swerve a little. “Sorry, I said that a bit late.”

“Don’t sweat it.” I say. 

“It would be awesome if you could, though. You could help break the stereotype that music is for nerds only.”

“You think I’m not a nerd?” I ask.

“Well, I mean, I dunno. We don’t really know each other well. I just assumed.”

“Well, it might behoove you to know that I have an unhealthy obsession with video games and Anime.”

“Really?” He asks. “What do you play?”

“Mainly Halo, but I like anything.” I say. 

“We should totally do a match after your lesson.” He says. I scoff egotistically.

“I would totally own you.”

“Would not.” 

“Would so.”

“Break left.” He says. I turn the car. “One more block, and it’s the third house down.” He says. I start slowing down. 

“I thought we were going to do homework.” I say. 

“Were we really?”

“I wasn’t sure.” I say. “You seem pretty smart, like you’ve got your shit together.”

“That’s mostly true.” He says. “I’m not smart naturally though, I just work hard.” I pull into the driveway. “Thanks for the ride. I’ll introduce you to my dad.” He says. We start walking up to the front door. “How are you feeling about it?”                       

“About what? 

“The appointment in general.” He says, ringing the doorbell. 

“A little nervous. Not about your dad, about my songs. I’ve never shown them to anyone before. Or sung in front of anyone, either.”

“Don’t worry about it. He won’t care.” He promises. I take a deep breath and the door opens. 

“Hi.” Phil’s dad says, smiling. 

“Hey, dad.” Phil says. “This is Dan.” 

“Nice to meet you.” We shake hands and he beckons us inside. “Come in.”

The house is quite humble in size but has a nicely decorated interior. I can tell based on some of the décour that this is a musical family. A grand piano sits in the back right corner of the living room, and a guitar in a stand lays in the back left. Band posters litter the walls, and an impressive collection of cds lines the center of the wall. 

“Can I offer you guys anything? How ‘bout some tea?”

“That’d be great.” Phil answers before I have to.  _ Thank you,  _ I think. He exits to the kitchen. 

“That display is really cool.” I say. Phil follows my gaze. “I haven’t used a hard copy of a cd like ever.”

“My dad’s into that kind of stuff. He likes to study old forms of music. He says it gives him a better understanding of contemporary music and how tastes and preferences change over time.” He takes his shoes off. 

“Oh, you guys do that?” I ask. It’s a completely foreign concept in my household. It’s always a wreck, and stuff is just thrown everywhere. 

“It’s not required, I just get tired of shoes after a while.” His dad returns with three carefully balanced mugs of tea. 

“There you go.” He says, handing one to me. “So, I’m aware that you’re staying afterwards to do homework, correct?” 

“Yup.” I say. 

“Great. Lets get started so that we can finish before it gets dark, just in case your parents start to worry.” 

“Oh, believe me, that won’t be a problem.” I say, sipping my tea. Phil’s dad looks confused, and Phil’s expression turns soft. “My parents are just, um, more laid back.” I explain.                           

“Right.” Mr. Lester says. “Well, Dan, I’ll take you to my office and we can get started.” Phil gives me a squeeze of reassurance as the two of us head over. 

His office is really impressive. A sound booth with a sliding glass door stands on the west wall, a sound board lays on the east, and on the north wall is an electric keyboard. There’s a desk with a laptop right outside the sound booth that has GarageBand open. 

“This is really cool.” I say, wandering around. 

“Thank you.” He says, sitting down near the sound board. “You can take that seat over there by the desk.” I put my bag down. “Now, then, I thought the best way to start would be if I could look at your lyrics and see what style would best fit your song.” He says. I pull out my paper and hand it to him. He glances at it for a few minutes. “What’s this song about?” He asks.                           

“Depression and finding yourself.” I say. 

“So, do you want it to be slow and moody?”

“No, I was thinking of making it more upbeat to counter the lyrics.” I say. 

“Interesting.” He looks at the lyrics again. “Do you have a melody in mind?”

I sink into my chair nervously. “Uh, yeah.” I pull out my staff paper and hand it to him, and begin to sing. He follows along and nods his head. 

“I like it. I like it a lot.” He says, smiling. “I think it’s cute.” 

“Thanks.” I say with a little hint of pride. 

“I like your idea of making the song upbeat, but I think it’s too personal to add effects.” He says. “You can refuse to answer if you wish, but did you write this based on past experiences?”

“Yes.” I say a little awkwardly. 

“I see. I feel like distortion and the like would take away from the meaning of the song. How do you feel about learning the guitar?” He asks. 

“I don’t have the time or the money.” I admit. He frowns. “One sec.” He leaves and returns a minute later with an old-looking guitar.

“This is a guitar I gave to Phil to try to get him to learn, but he never wanted to. The boy is too obsessed with choir to focus on anything else.” He says. “Anyway, since he’s not using it anytime soon, I could lend it to you until the end of the project.”

“You would do that?” I ask, stricken. I take the guitar from him. He shrugs. 

“Sure. That’s not a very new guitar and it’s not particularly expensive. I do, of course, expect it to be delivered back in prime condition.” He says sternly. “But, nobody is using it. And you saw in the living room, I have another, newer model anyway.”

“Wow.” I say. “I can’t thank you enough. First lessons, now this. Why are you being so nice to me? We don’t even know each other.”

“Because.” He says. “It’s clear that Phil likes you a lot. He seemed really giddy coming home on Saturday and has told me about you helping him adjust in your class. If Phil trusts and likes you, I trust and like you too.” He says.  _ Phil was giddy when he came home last week?  _ I smile at the thought. 

“Thank you. Seriously, thank you thank you thank you.” I profess. He smiles.

“Let me start teaching you how to use that thing.”

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

By the end of the lesson I have a basic understanding of how to hold the guitar and pluck keys without hurting my hand. 

“You’re a fast learner.” Mr. Lester compliments me. A timer goes off, and he checks his phone. “That’s the end of the lesson.” He says. 

“Thank you.” I put the guitar down and he leads me to Phil’s bedroom, knocking on the door. Phil opens it. 

“Hey, Dan. Come in.” He says. Mr. Lester leaves, and I enter.

It’s a small room, with a desk that has a tv and a ps4 on top of it, a twin-sized bed, and a small bookshelf full of not books, but rather a stack of video games and dvds. Phil flops on the bed, and I notice that the tv is paused. 

“What were you playing?” I ask. 

“Halo.” He says. “I was hoping to get a few practice rounds in.”

“Cheater.” I say. He sticks a tounge out at me. I scoff. “What are you, three?” He laughs and beckons me over. 

“Come, sit down.” He says. I start going over to the desk, but he shakes his head. “No, on the bed.” I raise an eyebrow and join him. We start a match. 

“How did the lesson go?” He asks. 

“Pretty good. We established a tone and a sound.” I say. “Not much else happened.” 

“I still think you should try out.” He says. 

“Oh, son of a bitch. Did you just kill me?”

“Told you I would win.” He says. 

“Rematch.” I demand. He rolls his eyes. 

“Mr. Confident isn’t so confident now, is he?” I shove him a little and we laugh. 

“You never responded.” He says. 

“About what?” I ask. 

“About auditioning.”

“I told you, not going to happen.” I say stubbornly. 

“I can tell you want to, though. Look, if your dad wants proof that practices don’t interfere, I could get Mrs. L to email him a schedule-“

“That’s not the point either.”

“Then what is?” He asks. 

“I see you screen cheating.” I say. 

“Was not.” He lies. I roll my eyes. “Answer! Stop deflecting my question.”

“Fine.” I say. “My dad doesn’t really care about me. I can tell.”

“I’m sure that’s not true-“ 

“You don’t know that. You’ve never met him.” I say. “Anyway, he goes on all these drinking binges and doesn’t come back for sometimes days on end, and I just...he puts so little effort into caring about me. He still somehow gets money to provide for me, and I’m not sure if it’s from his grocery store or from gambling or what, but he uses that as an excuse for it all. If he can show up to work occasionally and scrape through just enough so that we don’t starve, why would he stop? At least, that seems to be his mentality.” I continue, staring at the screen for a brief reprieve in thought. I take a deep breath. “Anyway, the one thing my dad  _ does _ care about is football. He talks about it all the time, and it’s the only thing he’s ever supported me in. He goes to almost every single game, when he can manage it. I don’t know. Sometimes it feels like if I lose football, I’ll lose what little relationship I have left with him. It’s already hanging on a thread. I don’t want to snap it to pieces.” I say. “And I know that even if I could somehow convince him that choir isn’t as time-consuming as he thinks it is, he won’t support me through it anyway. He won’t care enough about any concert we put on long enough to end his drinking escapades. So why bother?” Phil pauses the game. “What gives?” I ask. I finally turn my attention to him and notice the tears streaming down his face. My expression softens. “Phil…” I scoot over towards him and give him a hug. “I’m sorry, I-this is why I don’t like talking about it-”

“It’s not your fault, Dan.” He says, wiping a tear away. “I just feel really...I don’t know, disgusted almost? I’m not sure if that’s the right word.” He sighs. “You deserve more.”

“How do you know that? We barely know each other.” I say, trying my best to convey that I’m not trying to be an asshole. 

“Because nobody deserves that. Everyone deserves someone who loves them.”

“I don’t need people.” I counter. “I can take care of myself. I’m already pretty responsible-”

“Just because you can doesn’t mean you should.” He says. He looks up at me. “You shouldn’t have to take care of yourself to the extent that you do.” Something about his expression makes me feel like he isn’t just trying to make me feel better, and my heart aches. Nobody has ever cared enough about me to ask me about my home life. Even when my team members hint about it, I deflect their questions and they just leave me be. Phil cared. Phil wanted to know why I wasn’t pursuing something I had a passion for, and wasn’t taking no for an answer. And we barely even knew each other. I stare at him a little more, watching his tears slowly fade and dry away. And then I kiss him.           

His eyes lift up in surprise but he pulls me closer, running his hand through my hair. I moan and sink into it, clinging on to every second, every measure of his being. All my thoughts are on Phil and how amazing this feels, and I’m questioning why I never let myself feel this way before when it’s all I’ve ever wanted.  _ Because of dad. _ But dad didn’t have that kind of control over me, I realize. He can’t choose who I date, and if I wanted to date Phil, that’s what I was going to do-

The door opens and we jump away from each other. A girl that looks about our age stands outside the door with a tray of tea and biscuits. She looks a little shocked, but recovers. “Uh, mum wanted me to give you these.” She says, setting them down on Phil’s desk. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced.” She says, looking at me. 

“Oh.” Phil says, clearly blushing. “Riva, this is my, um, friend Dan. Dan, this is my sister Riva.” Riva nods at me. 

“Well. I’ll just leave you to it then.” She says, smiling. “Let me know if you need a condom.” She says hurriedly, shutting the door before Phil can say anything. 

“Jesus, she’s so annoying.” He says, now insanely red. With his pale complexion, he looks quite sunburned. “I didn’t even know that she owned a condom.” I roll my eyes. 

“At least she’s looking out for you.” I say. He blushes even more. “You good?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. She doesn’t care, I’m just a little jumpy now.” I put my hand on his shoulder and he relaxes. 

“That got pretty intense.” I say. 

“Yeah. It did.” He says. “Why did you kiss me? Not that I’m complaining, but you seemed so disinterested last week that I thought you were straight-”

“I don’t know. I was trying to deny it, I guess. But the way you were looking at me, like you cared so much about me even though we don't know each other that well. It just kind of hit me in all the right places, and I couldn’t help but wonder ‘what if?’” Phil wraps me in a hug.                                                

“Where does this leave us?” He asks. I hesitate. 

“I don’t know.” I say truthfully.  

“Dan?” He asks. 

“Yeah?”               

“Will you go on a date with me?”

I smile. “Yes.” He grins and kisses me again. 

“I’m going to spoil you like your father never did.” He says. “Just you wait.”       

“I don’t need things.”

“I never said that.” He says. “But you know what everyone needs? A fancy dinner and a chance to look amazing. My treat.”                                                                    

“That sounds really fun.” I say. “And like it’s exactly what I need.” He brushes a strand of hair away from my face, and I feel my heart beating a mile a minute. 


End file.
